


Trap and Release

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Desperation, Dom/sub Undertones, Elevator Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Urination, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By overwhelming request, a watersports/desperation fic (emphasis on the desperation part).  That means pee, y'all.  Don't read it if you don't like it.  Warnings for private sex in a public space as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trap and Release

"Can we use the elevator?" Blaine asks, hands fluttering. "I don't want to get my heart going, it might mess with my breath control later."

Kurt smiles indulgently, changes course, and the only thing between them and the nearest elevator is a wave and a smile exchanged between Kurt and a few of his NYADA friends.

Once the rickety metal doors slide shut Blaine lets himself pace a little, mouth working frantically albeit silently over the chorus of the song he's using to audition. He's warmed up and eager to show the judges just what he can do--but he can't deny that he's nervous about this in a way that he's never been before.

He's had three coffees, a juice box, and two bottles of water in the last four hours (not the best idea, especially not when combined with a lack of solid food), and he barely has time for a bathroom break before the audition. Pacing reminds his bladder of just how full it is, of how badly he has to go; the low throbbing press of it against his stomach and abdomen pings, unpleasant and sudden.

"God, I really have to pee," he whispers, blushing, at Kurt.

Kurt smiles, taking his hand and rubbing the back of it. "You're going to blow them away. Don't be nervous. And no matter what, I'm here, and I know the fastest way out of this building and to the nearest bakery, if emergency pastry is required."

Blaine laughs, relief bubbling in between the pockets of utter dread inside of his chest. Leave it to Kurt to know the quickest route to cheesecake in any given area.

But the truth is, nothing Kurt says or does is going to entirely negate the jitters. Blaine knows that the moment the music starts he'll switch on and kill it--but right here and now, stuck in this little shaky metal box, unaware of the way the room will look or who the judges will be, all he can feel is panic.

And the fact that he has to pee is starting to grate on that panic, fraying its edges even farther.

Just as this thought occurs the elevator screech-thuds to a stomach-lurching halt.

Kurt frowns and stares at the lit up number. "This isn't our floor."

"Huh?"

"It isn't our floor," he repeats. "We're--stuck. In between floors."

Oh, no. No, no, no.

"Does this happen a lot?" he squeaks out, panic doubling and tripling in his belly. 

His full bladder literally pounds inside of him, stirred up by his jangling nerves. For just one moment he thinks he might actual dribble urine in his underwear, and he clamps down on the sensation fiercely. If he were less inhibited he might reach down and pinch himself just to get rid of the feeling.

"Sometimes it shakes a little but not a full stop like this," Kurt mutters, looking irritated as he fishes around for the emergency phone--which turns out to be not a phone but just a communication button and speaker.

Thankfully there is someone paying attention, and a voice comes through telling them that the building maintenance manage is aware of the problem and has called a technician. It may take an hour or so to get the job done.

Blaine calls his contact at the school.

"I've had this appointment for months," he says into the phone. "Are you sure we can't just--" He sighs. "I understand. No. No, tomorrow is fine."

"They made you reschedule?" Kurt asks when he ends the call.

"Apparently all the time she had today was that half hour," Blaine says, sighing. "I'm just--god, I was so ready. What if putting it off destroys my focus?" He paces, tempted to put his hands in his hair now that he knows it doesn't matter if he messes up the gel.

Kurt reaches for him, tugs him half-resisting into a full body hug. "Hey. And what if the extra day gives you just that much more time to perfect it?"

"Since when did you become the optimist in this relationship?" Blaine asks, trying to smile.

"Since you became your own personal rain cloud, apparently."

This earns him a playful swat, but it seems to work--Blaine is smiling into his neck, relaxing into the hug like a soothed, tiny animal. "I want to knock their socks off. I'm--god, I just--I really have to pee, I hope this doesn't actually take an hour."

It takes longer than an hour. Apparently the technician is a lot harder to find than the building maintenance thought he or she would be. Two hours later Kurt and Blaine are still there, breathing shallowly, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the far wall of the elevator.

They've sung three duets, finished off Blaine's granola bars, and all Blaine wants to do is get the heck off of this thing. His audition being delayed has thrown him off; he's cranky and tired and sweating through his neatly pressed clothes and he doesn't like any of this.

Memories of that stalled elevator fantasy he used to have while he and Kurt were dating in high school are so very far away that he jumps when Kurt leans over and kisses his ear. 

At first he thinks it's just a passing gesture--but then Kurt kisses just below his ear, then places a soft line of them down his neck. He flushes, eyelids lifting lazily. 

"Mmm, what're you up to?" he murmurs, body tingling at the contact.

"Distraction," is the simple answer. A warm hand slides over his chest as Kurt kisses his jaw.

"Kurt," he whines, belly rolling. "I don't--"

"Shh," Kurt whispers, massaging his belly in a familiar, soothing way--which quickly morphs into discomfort when his full bladder reasserts its presence. 

He has to squeeze his thighs around himself to stop the rising urge to pee.

"No, I mean, I have to go. I wouldn't even be able to--" 

He blushes as Kurt's mouth sucks soft kisses down his throat. He can feel himself try to go rigid in his jeans, at least a little, but he has to pee so badly that the feelings clash and he starts to sweat and shiver. 

"Come sit in my lap," Kurt beckons, eyes dancing with wicked playfulness.

Even if they can't--god, it's not as if Blaine has any power to resist Kurt when he's like this, the way he has been since college, not precisely living dangerously but so much more open to risk than he was in high school. Blaine has always seen it as a good thing, and finds it almost impossible to avoid joining in now.

So even though it's uncomfortable he straddles Kurt's right leg and sits down, letting himself be drawn into kisses that leave him warm and panting.

"What about the tech--"

"You have been a mess of tension all day." Kurt rubs his back. "I just want you to loosen up a little, okay?"

"Kurt," he whimpers, tension radiating outward from his hard as a rock, swollen bladder in terrible waves. "I can't--don't touch my stomach, please."

"Mmm," Kurt hums, thumbing his waist. "But how else will I be able to make you come for me?"

"Oh my god," Blaine breathes, screwing his eyes shut and holding on tightly to the bare sliver of control over his body that he has left. 

Kurt's fingers rub low over his stomach, soft at first and then harder, pressing against his bladder.

"If this is--if this is a test, I'm never going to pass," he breathes, sweating and shaking. 

It's not altogether a pleasant feeling but the way Kurt is touching him, pressing against him feels calculated; so intentional, so indicative of a plan that it also excites him.

Kurt's thigh presses against his half-hard cock, bringing him tight up against the zipper of his dress slacks. He gasps, feeling a drop of urine spill out and stain his underwear. "Kurt." The relief of letting just that much out sings in his body, making him painfully aware of how good it would feel to empty himself completely.

"Let go," Kurt commands, scratchy and loving, pushing a thumb against his bladder. "I want to feel you let go for me."

"I'll--I'll--I can't," he whimpers, hips frozen in fear, belly heaving as his control slips.

"I want you to soak my leg," Kurt continues, breathless now, "I want to feel it, warm and wet, Blaine, all for me."

"Oh god, oh god, what--" 

He sucks in a difficult breath, face pressed nervously into Kurt's throat as Kurt continues to play with his body, pressing his bladder, sometimes with his fingers, sometimes using the edge of his belt buckle against him, and he keeps getting mixed signals from the arousal drawing him up stiff and making his cock swell and the need to empty his bladder.

Kurt's thigh begins rocking against his shaft and balls, making Blaine bob on his lap, and it feels so good, for one moment he almost lets go and allows the arousal to take over, and then Kurt is undoing his belt and pushing his zipper open. 

He strains the front of his briefs, which are already a little damp from the few squirts that have escaped.

He is embarrassed. He can smell it, and he feels dirty, and then Kurt's fingers are squeezing the head of his dick and tugging.

"Come on, sweetie," Kurt croons, biting his earlobe and jerking him. It's almost too much, and then Kurt's other hand presses against his swollen, firm bladder and then it is too much. "Let it out."

"Oh, god." It's too close, too close and he can't stop it. "What if someone--the door--"

"Then stop making me wait," comes the soft reply.

"Your pants," he gasps out, bladder contracting now in waves, the base of his dick aching with the effort of holding back, the tip in between Kurt's fingers; he's playing with it and he won't stop.

Kurt's fingers slide down the shaft and cup the root of him, stroke him without mercy. "Come on, you're so close, just give it up for me, give me everything you've got."

He bites his lip hard enough to hurt himself because he just can't, not right now, but his body and his boyfriend are not giving him much of a choice, and he likes it, but it's so--

When it starts it's just an accident--an inevitable thing, maybe, but also not conscious--a deep breath and Kurt's hands and leg against him and his bladder spasms and a jolt of pee rushes from the tip of his cock. It wets the front of his underwear and pants with a low splash and he whimpers, hips twitching forward. 

Kurt growls, nibbling on his neck. "That's it," he mutters. "Let go. Let go for me."

Blaine can't stop the rest. He closes his eyes, face burning with mortification as the relief floods his body--he unclenches, listening to the wet noise as he empties himself all over his pants and Kurt's lap, gush after gush of warm, pungent liquid soaking them both. Kurt's jeans go dark as they soak it all up, his fly now wet and molded around the shape of his erection. Blaine can see it twitch in his pants as he continues to spill.

The pleasure is as sharp as a knife's edge, keen and quivering and rolling through his body like an orgasm, wave after wave of the sweetest release.

Kurt's hand is still around him, milking him, fingers damp. When he's done, Kurt takes him out of his underwear carefully.

"Oh my god," Blaine moans, cock jerking as he pushes out the last of it and over Kurt's fingers. 

And then Kurt's fist is around him, bringing him to full hardness and drawing their bodies closer together.

"See, that wasn't so hard," he says, licking over Blaine's Adam's apple and then his lips, pushing inside.

Blaine's face is bright red and feverish. "God, Kurt--I--I can't--"

But Kurt's mouth won't stop moving over his, won't give him a chance to awkwardly ask what the hell was that and why did I like it so much and how did you know that I would, and as he swells and lengthens in Kurt's hand another sort of distraction takes over entirely. 

He can't stop rocking in Kurt's grip, can't stop his hips from churning, even with the sharp smell and damp clothes and everything sticking to them because he literally--all over the both of them.

The memory of it plays across the surface of his mind like skate blades over ice; it won't leave him alone, even as Kurt jerks him off, the noise of the touches wet and bouncing off of the walls of the elevator, Kurt's breath a steady, humid puff across his lips.

"So relaxed for me now," Kurt murmurs. They're both staring down at where his fist is flying around Blaine's blood-flushed erection, at the shiny, engorged head. "Gonna come for me? Make me even wetter?"

"God," Blaine moans, fucking the channel of Kurt's fist. "Close. Kurt, god." Too much friction. He can't slow down.

"That's it, get me dirty again. Come on--give me all that beautiful come, sweetie--"

Shaking, he clutches Kurt's neck and closes his eyes.

There's a static-laced scratch and then a voice comes through the speaker, "The cart may move soon, make sure you're away from the doors."

"Oh my god." Blaine's heart thuds. 

What if the doors open, what if they find them like this--

But all Kurt does is pull at him faster. "Maybe I should slow down. Maybe I want them to see how much you want me, how good you are, look at what a mess you made, hm?"

"Please," Blaine gasps, spreading his thighs. "D-don't, please, I--need to come, so badly, please--"

Kurt thumbs across his lips, then gently pushes his thumb inside Blaine's mouth. His fingers are salty-sweet and tangy all at once and--god, Blaine had gotten some on his hand when he'd--oh god, and they're in his mouth and--he sobs, sucking, hollowing his cheeks around the digits.

And that's it, that's what pushes him over, the pungent aftertaste of his skin and of his own--god--

He spurts over Kurt's fist, splattering their shirts and pants and Kurt's hand most of all.

The release is like being thrown and he shudders out a breath, falling into Kurt's arms. Kurt strokes him through it, well beyond over-sensitivity and faint discomfort and into numbness, and only then does he let go.

"Clean my fingers, love," is the last thing he says, and Blaine shivers, cock twitching as he licks his come off Kurt's hand. He can't precisely taste the--the other thing, but he knows it's there, just a faint odd note that isn't normally present when he cleans up after himself for Kurt.

He closes his eyes and rhythmically swallows until there's nothing left, just Kurt's fingers fucking idly into his mouth until he gets bored and stops, kissing Blaine's jaw.

"Okay?" he asks, nudging their noses together.

"God, yes, I just--this is going to be so awkward when those doors open."

Kurt grins, tugging his hands. "Come on. I have some wet wipes. We'll clean off the worst of it."

If anything it'll give him some time to figure out how the hell he's going to ask Kurt about what the hell just happened.


End file.
